To Awaken
by Mezfrem
Summary: Christine awakens to the sound of beautiful music. Now she has to convince her Angel that it isn't such a horrid way to be woken. One-shot Christine/Erik :


**Name:** To Awaken

**Characters:** Erik and Christine (Of course!)

**Rating:** PG

**Disclaimer:** By the age of Phantom of the Opera, you can probably guess I don't own it… never have, never will… I can dream though! All characters belong to Leroux, Webber, and anyone else who took up creating the wonderful characters of Phantom.

Sooo… I have another one-shot Phantom piece for you all! This one is a little less adventurous, but a little more Erik-Christine focused (I promise next time, though, I'll make it more gushy romantic, like ya'll like it!) These are really just my work on trying to capture the characters for now, because I've never written anything Phantom based before – very exciting though! They are such fun to write. ^_^ Thanks again for reading – and of course – **comments/reviews are VASTLY appreciated! **

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Erik was brooding.

Even before she had a proper chance to assess her surroundings, before she could get close enough to relay a morning's greetings, Christine could sense that. He sat at his instrument, stretching out his fingers before replacing them against the ivory keys of the piano, his expression as unreadable as ever.

When wasn't he brooding these days?

Christine had awoken to the most pleasant of sounds of music, warm atop the dark couch in Erik's small study. The fire had been roaring still, obviously tended to by an ever-considerate Erik, and the room was quiet and peaceful. The music had filtered through under the closed door almost hesitantly, waking her from slumber like the lightest of kisses against Christine's brow. A dark emerald blanket had been wrapped around her, shielding her from any cold that dared try and wake her, and the shoes she'd donned the night before had been removed and placed at the foot of the couch.

It had taken the young woman – because Christine refused to think of herself as anything but a woman now, for she was hardly just a child or _girl _anymore – only a few seconds to catch her bearings, recalling how she'd come to be where she was.

The night before, she had joined Erik for one of her later lessons, and they had worked for what seemed like hours, although he had insisted that it still wasn't enough, and that her time spent practicing not in his presence needed to still be better managed. After a brief but helpful – always helpful – array of notes on her performance, Erik had offered her to stay for dinner. And how could Christine refuse her Angel, when he had asked in such an unsure, hesitant manner? For all the bravado and fear that the Opera Ghost could incite when need be, Christine could not help but marvel over how painstakingly adorable he could be.

"Yes, I would like that, thank you _Ange_," she had replied in an equally hesitant tone, looking not to her Erik, but instead to the stone at her feet. She could hear the smile in his voice as he'd told her to make herself at home – a gesture that Christine had taken very closely to her heart – and she'd settled into the study, on one of the large armchairs by the couch.

The tiny wooden table that stood between the couch to her left and the fireplace to her right was soon filled with a small – but perfect – buffet of foods, which Christine could only imagine Erik had taken much consideration and care in choosing and preparing. Fruits, vegetables – some cooked and some fresh – breads, cheeses and a helping of some sort of meat that she'd found absolutely delicious. To her delight, even her Angel had eaten a little, sitting close on the couch beside her, his posture as perfect as ever, one hand resting idly on his knee. Christine couldn't imagine how irritating it would be for him to eat with his mask on, the contraption moving awkwardly with the motions of his jaw.

After dinner, Erik had told her a story that he said he'd learned long ago. It was a love story set with the backdrop of Persia, and ended in a way that Christine was hardly happy with – why did he have to give it a sad ending? – but when he assured her that it wasn't real, it was only a story, she did admit that that thought made her happy. It was only a story – in real life, the lovers would of surely ended up together!

Christine had yawned and tucked an annoying curl behind her hair, and sat back in her seat with her hands relaxed on the armrests as she closed her eyes. Her skin was so warm from where she had been sitting still for so long by the fire, "Tell me another story, _Ange_," she'd bid of Erik, and he needed little coaxing to lapse into another tale of adventure and romance, villainy mixed with heroism that made her heart leap. He was so good at telling stories. Perhaps that was what helped him create such a convincing Opera Ghost – he was so very believable.

It must have been long past midnight when she'd fallen into the most wondrous of sleeps she'd had in weeks. Perhaps it was because she was so close by her Angel, felt so safe when he was near.

And then she had woken up to that music. Soft, and coaxing her awake so gently. Christine had risen, folded the blanket up as neatly as she could and slipped her shoes back on. She followed the music down the hall – to Erik's music room – and paused when she reached the opened door. He was right where she imagined him to be, facing away from her, head down towards his piano.

The music stopped when she reached the door, as though the call was no longer needed, and he stretched back his shoulders and breathed in deeply, ringing out his wrists and looking up towards nothing in particular.

Christine could sense the change in mood from the night before. She approached hesitantly, coming to stand a few metres away from him, his left side only visible.

His one observable eyebrow was furrowed low towards his eye, studying the libretto set out before him. He must have known she was there at his side, sensed her as she approached before, but he didn't turn his head to acknowledge her. Before Christine had enough time to reach any closer towards him he pulled once again away from the piano, as though on second thought of wanting to play.

"Did you sleep well?"

Erik's tone was blank, unreadable. It held none of the emotions he'd used to convey his stories of the night before, and Christine almost felt herself pine for that lost shred of intimacy he'd enlisted with her. His jaw was set and he couldn't look at her still, his hands balled into fists and hovering just above the piano keys.

He didn't wait long enough for her to answer, before he declared, "I should take you back up, now."

A pang of disappointment hit her, and she frowned, "Already?"

"Your friends above will be missing you."

"It's still early, though," she was only guessing, of course. Beneath the Opera House, Christine never had any sense of what time it was, and relied primarily on Erik's various declarations to summarize the time for herself. Nevertheless, it couldn't of been_ that_ late in the day.

"That isn't the point-" He cut himself off as he harshly spoke the words, his head snapping towards her, but his eyes never finding her form. Erik took a moment to control his breathing before he went on, lowering his hands into his lap, "I should have had you back hours ago."

Christine wouldn't budge, though, and jutted out her chin a little in defiance, "I was asleep."

"Yes, and you shouldn't of been."

"It is no longer acceptable for me to sleep, then, is it?"

"You silly girl!" He barked harshly, rolling his eyes and standing. Christine took a hesitant step back, which Erik was all too aware of. Luckily, though, he didn't comment on the action, his mind still set on other things, "You should not, and will not, believe that it is acceptable for you to sleep _here_."

"Why not?"

"Because!" Erik paused, his eyes finally meeting hers, and whatever he saw there – pain, hurt… - whatever it was, he didn't like it, and looked away again. When he next spoke, it was gentler, his tone leveled and controlled, "Because, Christine, you shouldn't have to wake to a dark world such as this."

It was almost cryptic, his answer, but Christine understood nonetheless. He was suggesting that his world – his home – wasn't _good enough_ for her. Was he not? Her lips pouted, and her movements hesitant, but Christine slowly approached her fragile Angel, holding her hands out to him. It was his turn to step back now, his hand reaching back to support him against the piano. Christine's touch never reached him, though, and she pulled back, hurt by the sudden stab of rejection she felt.

"Is that what you think?" She mumbled, hugging her arms around herself.

"I know. Christine… I am your teacher, your Angel… I shouldn't allow for you to fall into that wonderful, dreamful state of yours when I know you're only to awaken to _this_." He waved his hands around him, and Christine looked around.

"This?" She cooed, "This world, Erik? If it were something that I didn't want to see, don't you think that I'd avoid it? I didn't have to fall asleep, you know! I could have easily picked myself up and demanded that you take me up to my own bed, away from you and away from _this_ world. But I didn't! I stayed and slept in my _dreamful state _and woke to the most wonderful of musics that I will forever hold dear to my heart, held just in the same place where all the songs you play for me are. So do not assume to know how I perceive this place upon awakening from my sleep, alright?"

Erik looked taken aback, his mouth held slightly opened as he looked over his small Angel of music. Christine had to use the silence to think over the words she'd used – had it all made sense? Perhaps that was why he was looking at her as he was – her words hadn't sounded right. Oh! It was too early for this sort of argument, and she huffed in annoyance, raising her hands to rest them on her hips.

A minute passed, and then another. Christine grew impatient.

Then, as if out of the blue, Erik laughed. A deep, rich chuckle that echoed through the room, probably down the hall and out over the lake. It was at first infuriating – did he not take her seriously? But the more he laughed, the less Christine could hold it against him, and she found the sound infectious, fighting back her own giggles as well.

Minutes ticked on, and finally Erik composed himself, straightening out his jacket. He took a moment more to settle down, breathing in deeply and closing his eyes to calm himself. He bent his neck to the left like he was making to crack it, but Christine heard no prominent cracking, and tucked her hands behind her back, suddenly realizing that she hadn't seen herself in the mirror yet, and wondered how unkempt she appeared to be after her sleep.

Erik sighed loudly, running a finger over his exposed jaw line, "You are…"

He trailed off, but Christine's curiosity got the better of her, and she raised an eyebrow, "Tediously tiresome?"

"Amazing," Erik said through a breath, barely a whisper.

His eyes had found something fascinating about the floor, and no matter how much closer Christine moved towards him, he didn't look up at her. She was practically toe-to-toe with him before he finally relented. She caught his eye, her right hand coming up to rest idly upon the fabric of his jacket's arm, just above his elbow. She could feel his warm breath tickle her skin, short and in a panic with her nearness.

The corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly, "Please, Erik. I don't want to go back yet."

A part of her knew she shouldn't do what she was doing. She shouldn't use her ability to overpower him like she was, to bend him to her will and leave him breathless with desire. Christine didn't want to leave, though! She didn't want to be shunned away from her idol again, to have to wait out another long, grueling day away from his presence.

"You silly girl," he breathed again, his voice barely audible as he swallowed, shaking where he stood.

The moment she moved to step away, though, his own hand reached up, snatching at her arm to keep her close, "Christine!" Erik managed, his voice panicked. A tug of fear spread through Christine's stomach – perhaps she shouldn't have been quite so direct?

But this was Erik before her, not the Opera Ghost. She was surely safe, standing here with him. He took in another deep breath, his eyes trained on her but his thoughts elsewhere. Finally, his grip loosened and he let her go, "I should still take you back up, though."

She sighed – could she ever win with him? Doubtful, she decided, but that didn't mean she'd have to stop trying.

Within the hour he had whisked her back up to the corridor behind the mirror of her dressing room. Beyond, away from Erik, the room looked dark and unwelcoming – the polar opposite of what the catacombs appeared to be for her. Erik, too, looked out at the room with a silent disdain, his jaw set and his palms balled to fists at his sides. He bowed his head solemnly as he turned back to Christine, "I shall meet you here this evening."

"After rehearsals."

"Yes, after rehearsals," he smiled, nodding only a little. The encouragement was enough for Christine, though, and she beamed brighter, the knowledge enough to get her through the next few hours.

"And will you be watching today, _Ange_?"

"The Opera Ghost has much to do with his time, Christine – he can't always be about to watch the Opera House _rehearsals_!" He was teasing, but the words were enough to chase away Christine's smile.

He chuckled again, and after hesitating only a second, raised his now-gloved hand to her shoulder, squeezing only slightly in reassurance, "As soon as you step out on that stage, my dear, I'll be watching."

"Thank you."

"You should get some rest, too, before you need to be on stage."

Christine cocked her head in confusion.

"No doubt sleeping on that couch was uncomfortable… I wrestled with myself over the idea of moving you to a bed, but then I thought, perhaps, that would startle you when you woke, and having woken in the surroundings you've come accustomed to in my home, I have no doubt that it was easier for you to accept…" He trailed on, but Christine had stopped listening, rolling her eyes and sighing silently to herself. She was idly wondering about his use of the words 'a bed' – not _his_ bed, not _the_ bed… did that mean Erik's home housed more than one? She almost blushed at the thought of being able to climb into a waiting bed for her in his home below on the nights when she couldn't be bothered returning to the world above. "Christine?"

"Hmm?" Christine blinked, shaking her head to clear it of her thoughts.

Erik studied her for a moment, deciphering the expression she was wearing. She wondered herself what expression her features were harboring, but quickly composed herself and flashed a small, warm smile. "I'm sorry, did you ask me something, Erik?"

He considered for a moment repeating himself, and then shook his head, "It doesn't matter. I will see you later, Christine."

His hand disappeared from her shoulder, and the now exposed skin was cold in the icy corridor where he had before been shielding it. A shiver ran up Christine's spine. Erik reached up to where the mirror's latch was, and with a little pop, the contraption swung open enough for Christine to fit through. Her Angel turned to leave.

"Erik!"

Catching his arm, Christine gushed, "Please don't think I disliked waking down there." Her cheeks reddened when Erik looked her over with an apprehensive gaze. "On the contrary…" But she couldn't finish, and hid a shy smile as she ducked her head.

"Oh Christine…" Erik finally mumbled, something between misery and hope.

He pulled his arm free and cleared his throat, straightening his jacket, "I will meet you here after your rehearsal," he said again, and within the split of a second had disappeared back into the darkness of his corridors.

Christine waited there a moment, hopeful that he would return. She felt empty now, lost and alone. The corridor was long and fearsome without Erik by her side, even if she knew he was still there somewhere, watching and waiting for her to return to the world she knew. With a huff, she stepped out of the corridor and through the mirror, pushing back against it to seal it shut once more – seal away that other world she was growing to care too much for.

The dressing room was cold and dull, and Christine set to work lighting the various candles around the room before she dared look back over at the mirror. All that looked back was herself, a small, uncertain girl – woman – with eyes both curious and tired at the same time. She hid a yawn under her hand, glancing at the clock.

Rehearsals were only a few hours away, so she didn't have to wait long, at least. In a few short hours, she would be back down in Erik's home, taking her lesson and forgetting the trials and tribulations of the her world above. Perhaps the next time she was down there, Christine vaguely thought with a playful smile, she'd even pluck up the courage to question Erik on how many bed's the man owned.


End file.
